


You Are Mine

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkwardness, Dating, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their first date, Jim takes Bones to play laser tag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Mine

It takes Leonard until third year to realise he is hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Jim Kirk.  
  
No, wait. That’s a lie.   
  
It takes Leonard until third year to  _tell_  Jim Kirk that he’s hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him, because up until this point he’s never imbibed enough alcohol in Jim’s presence to facilitate that kind of disclosure.  
  
“You’re my soulmate,” slurs Jim, smushing his face into Leonard’s shoulder. “I feel like we connect on a deep and personal level. You  _get_  me, man.”  
  
Jim’s hair smells like vodka and Leonard wraps his arms around him and nearly chokes on the swell of affection that expands in his chest. “I love you,” he blurts. “I’ve been in love with you for two years.”  
  
Jim grunts against his skin, something that sounds like agreement, and then his arm slips down Leonard’s back, spiralling them both off balance, and quite suddenly they’re slow-dancing, swaying in distinctly wobbly fashion to a complete lack of music in the deserted parking lot.   
  
“Will you go on a date with me?” asks Jim, his breaths coming in warm puffs against Leonard’s skin.  
  
“I guess so,” says Leonard, shuffling along in step with Jim, chin balanced on his shoulder. What he really means is  _YES PLEASE OH GOD WILL I EVER_  and Jim seems to pick up the subtext because he’s fly like that.  
  
Later, Jim rubs Leonard’s back as he throws up into a bush and babbles about how their first date is going to be  _amazing_ and will probably involve a lot less vomit, Bones, because that’s just—not amazing, I bet you don’t  _feel_  amazing, and—  


oOo

  
  
It’s Jim’s idea,  _obviously_ , because Leonard’s choice of first date activity would never incorporate either of the words “laser” or “tag,” and it sure as hell wouldn’t ever put those words  _together_.   
  
But Jim is irresistibly convincing, and his excitement erodes Leonard’s reluctance and general dislike of organised sporting events until he finds himself agreeing and then Jim is hugging him breathless and smacking him hard on the back, saying he will  _not_  regret this.  
  
Besides, he suspects that part of the reason Jim is so gung-ho on the idea of running around in a closed course wearing a vest and shooting strangers with lasers—besides the fact that he’s Jim Kirk and running around pretend to shoot people while screaming incoherently will  _always_  be his idea of a good time—is because doing something silly and active will take the pressure off the fact that this is their  _first date_ , they are now  _dating each other_  oh my god what the fuck.  
  
So when Jim gives him a wide grin and pleads a little bit with his giant gooey eyes, Leonard huffs a long-suffering sigh and says, “Fine, laser tag it is. But I get first dibs on the  _second_  date.”  
  
Judging by the way Jim’s eyes go crinkly at the corners, that’s exactly the right thing to say.   


oOo

  
  
“This is stupid,” says Leonard, scowling down at the plastic gun in his hands.  
  
“This is  _awesome_ ,” says Jim. He’s already got himself decked out in the gear, gun tucked into the holster velcro’d to his thigh, so he takes it upon himself to dress Leonard, as if strapping on the vest is something he’s incapable of doing on his own. But it’s kind of nice, Jim standing  _right there_ , his hands skirting over Leonard’s body as he tugs and adjusts the straps and buckles, so he just lets him, patiently holding out his arms.   
  
Jim graces him with another giant smile when he’s finished, and Leonard suppresses a sigh. “So, what do we—”  
  
In the space of about two seconds, Jim unholsters his gun, levels it at the sensor on Leonard’s vest, and tags him right in the sternum.

 

“We’re on the same team, you asshole!” splutters Leonard, as his vest blinks red and emits a high-pitched little shriek of an alarm that Leonard knows is going to penetrate into the very depths of his nightmares.   
  
“EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF!” hollers Jim, and takes off down the corridor.   
  
For a brief, violent second, Leonard considers just sitting down and giving up, but in the end he grumbles and curses under his breath and discovers a well-hidden corner on the second level where he can see a good portion of the arena, and he camps.   
  
He camps, and he tags every single person he sees, Jim included. Multiple times.   
  
By time the lights go up and the game ends, Leonard is smiling.   
  
“Where the hell did you go?” demands Jim, when Leonard meets him in the locker room. “Did you get eliminated?”  
  
“No,” says Leonard smugly, brandishing the little souvenir printout of his scores in Jim’s face and watching his eyes go wide. “You’re right. This was a really good idea.”  
  
“You traitor!” cries Jim. “You got me  _six times_. Where did you learn to—”  
  
“I play a lot of video games,” drawls Leonard.  
  
“You make me sad in the face, Bones.”  


oOo

  
  
To make up for Jim’s crushing defeat, Leonard buys them cheeseburgers, and they sit on a bench, looking out over San Francisco bay.   
  
It’s not even awkward until they’re walking back to campus, and Jim has got his hands jammed into his pockets and Leonard has mirrored the action, both of them keeping about a foot of distance between them as they walk, and don’t talk.   
  
It’s awkward because they usually have a real problem with the concept of “personal space,” in that, with each other, there normally  _isn’t any_. But with a suddenness that surprises Leonard, they both become distressingly spatially aware, making a real effort not to get too close, until Leonard can’t take another second of keeping a buffer of empty air between their bodies and snaps, “This is stupid.”   
  
Jim kind of flinches in surprise. “What is?”  
  
Leonard reaches out and takes Jim’s hand, squeezing firmly. “This shouldn’t be so weird.”  
  
“It’s not,” says Jim immediately, though he’s eyeing Leonard’s fingers twined between his own like he doesn’t know what they’re for. “Your  _face_  is w—”  
  
Leonard tugs him into range, abruptly eliminating the space between them, and crushes their mouths together.   
  
There’s a residual ache in his teeth, after they pull apart, but his cheeks are flushed and his lips are tingling, and Jim’s eyes are like beacons in the gradual dark. There’s a warm knot in the pit of his stomach.   
  
“Jim,” he murmurs, and kisses him again. “Just shut up.”


End file.
